


Vases of Vanity

by Slumber



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Infidelity, Pansy and Ginny are married to other people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber
Summary: Pansy and Ginny meet at a benefit.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Collections: 30-minute Writer's Block Challenge





	Vases of Vanity

**Author's Note:**

> A once-written drabble, revisited.

i.

She double-checks that her glamor charms are perfect, looks at the mirror and stares intently to make sure not a stray lock of hair is out of place, and the one that is, is there to artistically frame her face. She smiles, pouts, puckers apple-red lips and casts the softest of blushes on her cheeks. Her skin is porcelain-smooth, her neck heavy with a large emerald set in white gold and hanging by a thin sliver of a chain, her ears peeking from behind a curtain of soft black curls only to showcase matching emerald drops. Her eyes are a deep-set hazel, her smile a gorgeous hello, here I am to the world at large. Her breasts are tight, against the corset, her waist tiny and negligible. Her dress is full and lush and she is the picture of elegance, of perfection, of beauty. 

"Ready to go?" her husband asks, poking his head from the door. 

"In a while," she says with a smile, serene and never hurrying. (Ladies don't hurry.) She is lucky, she thinks, for she married a rich man, a good man, a man her family believes is spotless in reputation and whose name isn't marred by war or ugliness or prejudice. He is a kindly man, a smiling man, a doting man. He showers her with pearls even when she doesn't ask, takes her on trips even when she doesn't say anything, and goes above and beyond to treat her like a queen.

As she is.

With delicate fingers she takes her laced gloves and slips them up her smooth skin. Her fingernail catches upon the fabric and she frowns. (That will not do, there is no room for tears and imperfections here.) 

"Darling?" he calls again.

"Coming," she says.

ii.

There is no girl as lucky as she is in the entirety of the world, this Ginny Weasley-Potter knows for certain. She has a loving family, supportive friends, and an adoring husband she met at school and who would give the world for her.

"You look beautiful," Harry tells her and she blushes accordingly. He always sounds as though she takes his breath away, but that's silly, because it's only her, it's only Ginny. She's got too many freckles dotting her bare shoulders and her arms, her hair is a wild red that can usually be tamed, but which frays around her regardless. She isn't much, she doesn't have much, but Harry does seem to love her, and she does love him in return. That's all there is to it, isn't it? That's all that's needed to be happy, isn't it? Sweet kisses in the morning, comfortable sex once a week, kind eyes and gentle touches and Harry, adoring and devoted and gentle, sweet, Harry.

"I'm not," she denies, laughing as she turns to face the mirror. Her nose is pert, a little upturned, defiant as she is growing up in a house of six brothers. Her glamor charms are a bit off--it has been a while since she's done anything with them--and her dress is a little too loose in the torso, a little too snug around the hips. There is not much she can do about that, it's the curse of being an athlete for a living-- her arms are a bit too toned, her shoulders too broad-- but Harry puts his arms around her and presses a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

"Yes you are," he says, always with the right thing whenever she needs it. "Stop worrying, you're fine."

She doubts him regardless but figures perhaps it is not the time to argue, they do have somewhere to be. She grabs the last of her accessories--diamond earrings, matching the stone that graces her finger--and puts them on. "All right," she says. "I'm ready."

iii. 

Ginny clings to his arm, brushes away the fraying strands of hair around her face. They whip around her, wild and unruly, but she doubts anyone minds. She doubts anyone sees. They are surrounded by a flurry of jewel-colored gowns, elegant robes and painstakingly charmed curls, buns, wavy hair. There are smiles, too, and she forces herself to smile in return, because they came here for her--well, for Harry--and she needs to play her part.

They whisper around her, and she does not need to listen close to know what it is they are talking about. It's the Boy Who Lived, it's the Savior of the Wizarding World, what cause has he to preach about tonight? Since Harry defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, got accepted into the Auror ranks, settled into the more mundane task of everyday justice, they've found his voice still can be useful for bringing to light many other causes. It's the reason he started his foundation, the reason he is this much in-demand and this much still in the limelight. 

Ginny doesn't mind, really, considering it means that the cause of the week (Squibs, this time, and opportunities for them in light of their plight) gets the galleons it deserves in order to be fixed, but sometimes, like tonight, the attention (and lack thereof) can be suffocating. Gently, politely, she extracts herself from his arm, slips out of the throng of people who can never get enough of Harry Potter (unless they live with him almost 24/7) and look for fresh air. It should not be hard to find, she thinks. 

It's everywhere Harry isn't.

iv. 

She doesn't expect to find Pansy Parkinson taking a deep drag of her cigarette when finally she manages to find the gardens, but there she is, merely moving away to give her space when she asks if there is enough room.

"Weasley," Pansy says, voice cool as ever, surprising only because Ginny had expected more heat, more anger. But years do heal, she supposes, and there is nothing in her heart left for Pansy Parkinson but the small amount of gratitude that she did not decide to make a big deal of her arrival.

"Weasley-Potter, actually," she says, eyeing Pansy's cigarette for a moment. "Do you have any more?"

Pansy gives her a curious expression, and it looks like she swallows a question she means to ask. Instead she reaches into her slim purse and takes out another stick to hand to her. Ginny takes it gratefully, lets Pansy light it with the tip of her wand, and draws a deep hit. "Ah, I forget. Wedding of the Century, was it not? First time I've seen more coverage for the groom than the bride, though," she says with a sharp laugh. "Did I even see the gown?"

"It was my mother's," Ginny says, coloring because her mother, well-intentioned as she was, had wanted her to wear her own wedding dress, which had been handed down from the maternal side of the family. Tradition, Molly Weasley had said, and Ginny would have been proud had she not felt embarrassed knowing the question on everyone else's minds would have been whether or not she wore the dress because her family couldn't afford much more. She adds, after coughing: "All the better, I suppose."

At this Pansy only raises an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to smoke?" is her challenge.

Ginny shrugs. "Well enough."

Pansy laughs. "If you came here for fresh air this isn't the best idea for you," she tells her, taking the stick from between her fingers and brandishing it with the ease of a smoker. "See?"

Ginny rolls her eyes at the condescension, but grabs it all the same. "Like this?" she asks, but Pansy shakes her head and guides her fingers so she is holding her stick correctly.

"Do I have to show you how to smoke it too?" Pansy asks.

v.

She shows her how to do other things as well. Later, they find themselves alone, or hidden, Ginny with her back to the wall, Pansy's sleeves falling down her bare shoulder, covered by the black of the night and the foliage of the gardens. 

"Yes, like this," Ginny says, as Pansy worships each freckle with a peppered, feathery kiss.

Pansy's make-up is smudged, and Ginny's dress is dirtied. Pansy is no longer perfect, Ginny not as pure.

It is not what matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider donating to local organizations who support trans individuals in your area.


End file.
